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was comfortable with that. I almost felt that, were I or anyone else to make a fuss about my Buddhist practice, it would become somehow less real. But another thing went unvoiced: a silent conflict between my dad and me. I’m not sure if he was aware of this conflict, but there were times when I burned with anger. He would order me, “Go meditate,”and inwardly I would explode with fury. In fact, I probably should have gone and meditated at those times, like he told me, but I didn’t hear the message. My pesky ego wouldn’t be quiet long enough for me to think about it. All I knew was that he was imposing on what was mine. How dare he presume to tell me what to do in my spiritual life? I was practicing what he had only read about! One time, I snapped at him, “You read all these books on Buddhism, but you never actually apply them to your life!” He looked at me and said, “You think they haven’t affected the way I think? The way I act?” I was startled into silence. I pushed the incident into the back of my mind, but it lingered there until finally, in the art gallery, it evolved into a realization about my father. The words “I try” made me realize that my dad wasn’t just reading about Buddhism. It helped me to understand that he was a Buddhist in practice, too, just in a different way than I was. He never called himself Buddhist, and I don’t think he even thought of himself as one. But I’m sure that there were elements of the Buddha’s teachings that he grasped much more fully than I did. After that moment in the gallery, I also realized I was becoming lost in the rituals, in all the pretty colors of Buddhism. My dad brought me back to simple practice, back to the everyday. Sitting on the cushion in my room, I worked past my anger and it became clear to me that he was giving me a gift. I tried to practice mindfulness, but often I forgot. Why should I resent his reminding me? In this way, he was my mirror. Teens 5
The day following the incident in the gallery, we were walking and I asked him, “Have you ever considered meditating? You have the time, now that you aren’t working.” He was silent a few moments. Finally, he said, “I’ve thought about it. But I still don’t know whether I can make that commitment.” The path I walk is very much my own. Yet in that moment, it seemed to me that with our very different angles on Buddhism, my father and I had something to offer each other. In a strange and wonderful way, we keep each other in balance. 6 T H E B U D D H A ’ S A P P R E N T I C E S
Page 1 and 2: T H E From the editor of the acclai
Page 3 and 4: More Praise “Forget Chicken Soup
Page 5 and 6: Wisdom Publications, Inc. 199 Elm S
Page 7 and 8: P u b l i s h e r ’ s A c k n o w
Page 9 and 10: alexis trass Fortune Baby? 37 myoju
Page 12 and 13: F o r e w o r d by sharon salzberg
Page 14 and 15: E d i t o r ’ s P r e f a c e Sev
Page 16 and 17: ich, wonderful stories to be shared
Page 18 and 19: With each piece, the given age is t
Page 20 and 21: A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s This
Page 22: S e c t i o n I Teens
Page 25: about my father. Suddenly, his advi

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